


Piece by piece

by SheepOh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Presents, Everything would be fine quick if they just talked for christ sake, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Johns ramc mug, Listen they need to talk, M/M, Post Mary, like real bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8990698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheepOh/pseuds/SheepOh
Summary: John's back home but something is still missing, words are still unspoken. A small and ordinary mishap might be what will bring them together, and in time for Christmas.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [TidesAndMoons](http://tidesandmoons.tumblr.com/) who, as always, manages to find time for me and my fics even though she's super busy

John's back, in a way. He's back in his upstairs room in Baker Street. He lives here again. He's available to go on cases on last minute notice nearly 24/7 again. They eat together again. They share a living room, and a kitchen, and a bathroom again. In other ways though, he's still very much gone.

His mischievousness is gone; the easy jokes, the inappropriate grins, the gentle teasing, it's all gone. His warmth is gone.

Sherlock misses him an it makes no sense because he is here again. Everybody is rejoiced to have him back, Greg on pub nights, Mrs Hudson whenever she pops in upstairs, the Yard whenever he avoids them having to interact with Sherlock, even Mycroft when he sasses him away, though he wouldn't admit it out loud, all but Sherlock.

Sherlock is the only one who couldn't get him back.

Sherlock loves him more than he ever has before and wants him, to be with him more than he's ever wanted anything, but John won't even give him his friendship back nor his forgiveness. It hurts, but Sherlock tries to hide it. He shouldn't and can't afford to add to the burden he is on John.

This doesn't mean he doesn't think about it extensively, at least when he's alone, like now.

He might be thinking about it a bit too extensively because he nearly burns himself with his torch. He jerks violently to avoid it and knocks the clutter on the table off it and on the ceramic floor.

Berating himself for his carelessness and foolishness, he cleans up the mess, two plates, bits of toasts, a newspaper, pens, a cow's tongue, tea, a mug... _John's_ mug, John's mug that is now broken but was definitely not broken this morning, that _he_ broke.

Sherlock broke John's mug.

He should apologize, he thinks as he picks up the pieces, _John_ would like that, and he gets stuck there as it crosses his mind, crouched on the floor with broken pieces of the mug in is hands.

* * *

John is in his room reading a book, or attempting to, when he hears the clatter.  
He was mostly thinking and feeling guilty about reading in his room instead of downstairs, closer to Sherlock, as he used to. He's back in Baker Street, back home, to his old, crazy, unbelievable life and everything seems to be getting better day by day, except with Sherlock. It's partly John's own fault, he knows that. They both seem to be holding back. The easiness that was always there between them is gone. There a less epic sulks, fights and anger outbursts but there's also less warmth, less conspiring looks and wholehearted laughter. He misses it but he can't risk crowding or pushing Sherlock and damaging their relationship further. He's also at a loss as to what exactly it is Sherlock needs from him.

He rushes downstairs at least thankful he hasn't heard any explosions.

All is silent when he gets to Sherlock in the kitchen. He's crouching with pieces of broken dishware in his hands.

''You alright?'', he asks but gets no answer.

Sherlock looks lost in thoughts as he stares at the broken pieces. John lowers himself at his level to try and get his attention.

''Sherlock'', he calls.

Still not getting an answer, he reaches for the pieces in his hands.

''I broke it'', Sherlock blurts out, ''Your mug, the one you like best, I broke it''.

''Well, it was bound to happen, wasn't it? With all your crazy experiments and flouncing around.'' John tries, standing to put the pieces on the table.

His attempt at playfulness fails miserably. Sherlock doesn't join in it, in fact, it's quite the opposite, guilt seems to be drawing itself into his face.

''Sherlock? I have other mugs, it's fine.'', he says getting back to his level.

''I'm sorry John.''

''It's just a mug. It doesn't matter.''

''I am so, so sorry. I know I keep-'', he swallows harshly, ''I'm sorry. I need you to understand this. I'm sorry. I really am. John-'', this last word draws as a hurt whimper he can't hold in.

''You're not just talking about the mug anymore are you?'', John asks sadly and Sherlock gestures no in a small movement of his head, not meeting his eyes, but it's too late. He showed his heart there and can't reign it back in, hidden, safe.

He waits, trying to calm himself, then elaborates.

'' I want you to forgive me, John, for everything I...'', he sighs, ''Everything I'm responsible for, could've avoided you...But I don't now how to deserve it.'' His voice breaks on the last sentence and a loud sob shakes him. John is momentarily stunned into silence.

''You-. You already have, Sherlock. It's-. I - .'', he takes a steadying breath, ''Let's get somewhere comfier first, yeah?''

John gets up and pulls lightly on Sherlock's wrist.

''Please, Sherlock'', he adds when his maneuver meets resistance, and he gives in, following to the sofa where they sit side by side. Sherlock stares at his hands in his lap. John turns himself so he can look at Sherlock. His knee nudges Sherlock's.

''Okay. Hum.'', he clears his throat, '' What I mean, Sherlock, is that'', he takes another breath''I should be the one apologizing'', he pauses, '' for _everything_ , Sherlock. And I mean it. So, '' he pauses again, then continues, almost in a whisper ''Of course, I forgive you. Did, a long time ago.''

He gives a reassuring squeeze to Sherlock's knee, leaving his hand there.

Sherlock breathes a quiet ''Thank you'', but still doesn't look at John, letting him gaze at his profile. He's not sobbing anymore though. His breathing is slower, nearly back to normal.

''Yeh, um, that too'', he swallows, ''I'm grateful that you let me come back here. Home''. This time, it's John's breath that goes shaky and he clenches his hand into a fist, not the one on Sherlock, but he still notices. This, at least, makes him look at John.

''It only is if you're here.''

John looks back into Sherlock's eyes and their gazes lock together.

''Yeah?'', he asks.

''Yes'', Sherlock answers firmly.

An understanding passes through them and John' lips are on Sherlock's.

* * *

Sherlock had ended up finding and ordering an exact replica of John's old RAMC mug.  
John finds it next to the coffee machine, already filled and steaming. He smiles to himself and goes on with his morning routine, humming all the way through it.

* * *

Christmas eve is mostly spent chasing a jewel thief around London. He apparently has no sense of Christmas spirit and is ironically caught thanks to strategically placed fairy lights in a darkened house. They're still laughing at the comedic quality of it as they enter their flat. It's already dark out and the snowfall is picking up in intensity, while the degrees steadily decrease. Mrs Hudson has apparently been warned of their arrival as the fire is lit in the living room and food plates are waiting for them on the kitchen table, along a handwritten note wishing them a happy Christmas.

They eat until they couldn't possibly eat even a single bite more, then settle in their chairs, close to the warm fire.

''Happy Christmas, John'', Sherlock says coming back from the kitchen, a bottle of whisky in one hand and a wrapped box in his other, outstretched one.

''I thought weren't doing gifts until tomorrow?''

''That's true, but I wanted to give you this one, here, in private.''

''Oh? Okay'', John grins, curious, ''Give it here, then''. 

John undoes the bow and unwraps the paper to lift from the box, and under Sherlock's scrutiny, a white mug. It has an elegant shape and on it is written in silver cursive.

> ''TEA FREAK  
>  Hit me with your best pot''

John's laugh echoes in the small flat, making Sherlock smile fondly at him.

''You see, it's just a small - '', Sherlock tries shrugging.

''I love it Sherlock.''

''You do?'', he asks, wonder evident in his features.

''Christ, yes! In fact, I want to use it right away, so why don't _you_ hit me with your best pot?'', he teases, handing proudly his brand new mug to Sherlock who rolls his eyes affectionately.

''I supposes that can come with the gift...just this once '', he exclaims, still taking it with him to the kitchen.

''Oh, I'm sure I can find ways to...encourage you to make the tea.''

''Like what?''

''Like this''

He comes towards him, crowds him in the counter then kisses deeply.

''Mmh'', Sherlock opens his eyes, John staying in his space, ''Yes. I suppose it could be a sufficient incentive, though we'd need further experimentation to get a conclusive answer''.

''Let's experiment some more, then''.

And so they kiss and kiss and kiss, again and again and again, forgetting the tea altogether.


End file.
